And Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by Serra-Of-Many-Names
Summary: A vampire threat emerges that neither Hellsing nor Iscariot is prepared to deal with. Forced into hiding with Integral Hellsing, Enrico Maxwell must learn to fight his own demons. Possible IxM in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own Hellsing, never did, not getting paid for it.

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Maxwell's blood dripped onto the marble floor, mingling with spilled ash as he crawled slowly to Anderson's side. The shouts of the priest and the vampire still echoed against the high, arched ceiling; the smell of death was almost palpable. Angel Dust Andersong had fought his last as elegantly as he had fought a thousand battles. And he should--_should--_be fit for a thousand more.

Yet it seemed, as the regenerator lay in the pool of bloody ashes without a visible scratch on him, that his supposedly infinite time had run out.

Anderson winced and arched his back in agony; his hand grasped uselessly at his chest. "Take my body... back to Scotland, will ye, Maxwell? For God's sake, don't bury me as... Iscariot's... great achievement..."

"I understand," Maxwell murmured numbly, his own injuries fading from the edges of his consciousness.

Anderson's fist tightened, nearly tearing his robes, as his breathing became more and more harsh, raspy, desperate. "At the least... I die... victorious."

"You do," Maxwell agreed softly. "Now go. God's will be done."

Anderson's head fell limply to the side, his eyes staring and glazed. When his last shuddering breath had expired, all movement in the room seemed to cease. It was over, so abruptly, for Iscariot's great achievement.

Maxwell crossed the body, still refusing to look down at it. The trance he was in, dead and senseless as it was, was welcome now. Anderson was not dead, had not just proven the scientists wrong and died of a heart attack while defending his master. When he had to get up, when something woke him from this comfortable half-sleep, then Anderson could be dead.

"Father Maxwell?"

"Don't touch me," Maxwell muttered to some other plane of consciousness. He might, quite happily, sit here for the rest of his life and feel nothing. Now was not the time to face the nightmare of the waking world.

Evidently his mumbling was unintelligible to anyone outside of himself, for a hand on his arm jolted him awake again. "Maxwell..."

"Don't touch me!" Maxwell yelped, wrenching his arm away and whirling to face Integra. He calmed slightly as he realized again where he was and what had happened. "He's dead, Sir Hellsing. Of a heart attack, it seems."

"We're still in danger here." Integra half-dragged the priest to his feet. "Take Anderson, snap out of it and get us the hell out of this cathedral. Everyone of importance has already been evacuated."

Maxwell knelt and struggled to lift the larger man, noticing for the first time that he himself was badly wounded. "Very well, then. We'll disappear."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1.

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Maxwell did not sleep on the flight to Scotland. If the accursed midians could attack Alexander Anderson in Westminster Cathedral, of course they could follow his master onto a plane. He was, of course, stripped of his weapons before boarding the plane, but in some desperate hope of warding off evil, he stayed awake.

Anderson's burial was quick and furtive, and Integra did not attend. Maxwell himself was hardly there; he unconsciously presided over the brief funeral without thinking. The only others in attendance were scattered Iscariot personnel; Anderson, after all, had no family but the scientists that had created him. Maxwell wondered absently then if his conception had been his downfall, but he himself knew nothing of genetics and thought it better not to ask.

When the regenerator was finally at rest, Maxwell and what forces he could gather went to rejoin Integra. She and her two vampire slaves, and the aging butler, were being hidden at the Ireland base with some of her men. She could not return to her mansion until the threat dissipated, and perhaps it would be destroyed before then. He never asked her what she thought of her father's house being demolished, and she never told him; her past was a subject she did not broach with enemies.

And so they waited and watched as Europe fell to shreds. The demon army that had sent Anderson's attacker claimed life after life. Iscariot and Hellsing alike fell to them, entire legions turned to lifeless ghouls. The few men left standing in Hellsing secluded themselves in various countries, and Iscariot retreated into the Vatican, the only place the vampires had not yet breached. Communication was cut between Ireland and Italy, and the only two agents Maxwell knew for certain to be alive were the two he had with him, who for the time being had conceded to act as Hellsing soldiers.

Integra's special agents were more robots than actual people now; perhaps the threat of death had sapped them of personalities. Maxwell never saw the knight sleeping; he supposed she must stay up to speak with Alucard, whom he never saw at all. Seras emerged in the late evening, usually walking aimlessly around the house and only speaking when spoken to. Walter seemed to go about his duties, whatever those may have been under the circumstances, without acknowledging anything.

"Where else is there to go?" Maxwell wondered aloud one day, looking out the window at the grassy landscape. Even now, Ireland was a lovely country.

Integra, who had been sitting and smoking at the table, looked up at him quizzically. "What are you talking about?"

"When they push far west enough to find us. Assuming we survive, where will we go?"

"Alucard will find somewhere to go as he has in earlier centuries. As for those of us who are less immortal..." She turned her icy-blue eyes on him. "I cannot speak for you, Father Maxwell, but Hellsing will not be so cowardly as to survive while our soldiers die to protect us."

"Anderson died of cardiac arrest," Maxwell protested, turning to her. "It had nothing to do with the vampire."

"So he would have died anyway if you had been brave enough to fight your own battle? The vampire came after you. You were armed, Maxwell."

"How dare you suggest I was responsible for my subordinate's death?" He was nearly nose-to-nose with her now, bending over her in the chair. "Do I blame you when one of your soldiers dies? Need I remind you that fully two-thirds of your regiments are now functionally dead from defending you?"

"My men protect England," she replied calmly, standing and pushing him back. "And so do I. Anderson, Maxwell, died protecting you from something you were too spineless to face. You can't absolve yourself of that."

Maxwell stepped backward, still glaring at the woman. "Leave."

"This is my property, Maxwell."

"Leave this room! Leave me alone!" His words came out louder than he had meant, and he startled even himself.

"You're angry at the truth, Maxwell," she muttered as she left. "Only the truth."

Maxwell felt a mad urge to follow her, strangle her as he had wanted to countless times before and prove to her who was spineless. Logic ruled in the end, and he was obliged to take a sleeping pill, retire to his bedroom, and contemplate while falling asleep whether self-preservation was intelligence or cowardice.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1.

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Maxwell was intensely grateful to find himself safe in his bed when he woke. His dreams fled from his memory, but an ambiguous stabbing pain haunted his mind. Anderson's bayonet had been embedded in Maxwell's flesh, somewhere near his throbbing carotid artery... and he was covered in blood, thick blood that crawled over his skin like a mass of worms...

_Vatican swine._

Alucard's voice in his mind startled Maxwell so that his entire bed shuddered for a moment. He recomposed himself in a moment, realizing that if he wanted the midian to leave him alone, he had to answer. Even in his mind, Maxwell's voice sounded uneven and fearful. _What?_

_You dare to insult my Master yet again, Vatican swine? And yet _you _were too afraid to save your own comrade._

_What do you want from me? _Maxwell tried to keep his thoughts even, but he was terrified of Alucard's anger and could not chase away the images of the vampire killing him in countless ways. _Anderson is already dead! I won't hurt Integra, or may Heaven strike me dead! _As if confirming the oath, he crossed himself.

_No, you won't hurt Integra, but we both know it's not God you fear. _Maxwell grimaced and trembled hard as the vampire continued. Y_ou will apologize for what you said to her. You were wrong for once in your life, priest._

_I didn't kill Anderson, _Maxwell protested weakly.

I confess to Almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault...

Maxwell recognized the Penitential Rite of Mass, but was bewildered as to why the vampire was reciting it in his mind. _What are you going on about?_

...in my thoughts and in my words...

_I never claimed not to have sinned!_

...in what I have done...

_What have I done that was so heinous you won't let me sleep?_

...and in what I have failed to do.

Maxwell fell immobile and silent, remembering how he had lay on the ground in shock, his sword beside him, while Anderson had gone after the vampire. Bleeding, gasping, but other than that doing nothing. Was that his mortal sin?

_Remember that, priest. You'll do well to practice what you preach. _Even now, Maxwell could tell that Alucard was grinning. _Pray to your God to forgive you, and maybe you won't burn in Hell._

_I didn't kill him, _Maxwell insisted again, more to himself than to Alucard.

You didn't save him.

Maxwell whimpered and clenched his teeth. Please just go.

The terrible crawling feeling from Maxwell's dream returned, viscous blood sliding over his body, and he kept his eyes tightly shut as the vampire spoke again. You're terrified of me, Catholic pig. I can smell it in your blood. You were terrified of that vampire, too, and that's why Anderson is dead. You pathetic ingrate.

Please stop. Leave me alone. Desperately, Maxwell began to speak audibly. "Get away from me or I'll... kill you in the morning..." The gelatinous blood dripped into his mouth, a metallic taste that slipped against his tongue and made it difficult to speak. "I'll kill you..." His mouth was full of it, and his words were coming out slurred. "Get your blood out of my mouth..." In attempting to speak he swallowed some of it. "Stop it..."

That's not my blood, pig. It's his.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Maxwell turned his face against the pillow and began to spit, futilely trying to rid his mouth of the substance invading it. "Why me, midian? Because it's me?"

I've told you what I have against you. All you need to do is remedy the situation.

Maxwell's eyes snapped open without his bidding. His mouth was empty except for the pillow he had been using to try to remove the blood. His face was wet with saliva and sweat, and the rest of his body was sweaty as well. The only lingering indication that there had ever been blood on him was the memory of the slippery sensation; and the taste, like raw meat and molten copper.

He felt too disturbed to pray, though God knew he could have used it. He merely stared, wide-eyed, at the ceiling of his bedroom until dawn broke. Then he went to find Integra.

The smell of her cigar led him to the sitting room, where she was smoking in the same chair she had been in earlier. She looked up, surprised to see him. "What are you doing awake so early?"

Maxwell took a deep breath. "I wanted... to apologize for what I said to you yesterday. It was unwarranted."

A slow smile spread across Integra's face. "Alucard?"

"You ordered him?" Maxwell tried to keep his anger in check. If he was harsh to her again, Alucard would be inclined to tear him apart.

She shook her head. "I didn't order him to terrorize you. All the same, I didn't order him not to terrorize you. Alucard is very protective of me, Maxwell." She motioned to the loveseat across from her chair. "Take a seat."

Maxwell sat down, facing her. "Animosity between us is only going to keep us from apprehending this vampire cult. I apologize for having been rude to you in our conversation last night."

"Thank you." She did not apologize herself, something that mildly angered Maxwell, but she had not even raised her voice the night before. "You are right, Maxwell. We must never let personal differences get in the way of our combined effort."

"Agreed." He leaned over, extending his hand.

She took it. "Until the threat to Europe is over, Hellsing and Iscariot will be fully allied."

He was barely beginning to notice how strong her grip was for the size of her thin hand when Walter came running downstairs. "Sir, there's been a problem."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See Ch. 1.

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There was a pregnant silence as the four of them surrounded the bed. Seras Victoria was tied down to Walter's bed, convulsions stifled by the straps around her wrists and ankles. The bedposts wobbled with her struggling, and her face had taken on a sickly, greenish tone. She looked, Maxwell thought grimly, like something from a science-fiction movie, something possessed and lifeless. 

The situation did not seem to faze Alucard at all; he merely aided Walter in positioning her so that she would not hurt herself. His voice was hard. "What happened, Walter?"

"I honestly don't know," Walter grunted, attempting to secure her left hand more tightly to prevent her jerking from tearing the bed down. "By the time I was aware of her condition, she was already semi-conscious and convulsive. I don't notice any other obvious symptoms other than the pallor, but when I was restraining her... she seemed very cold to the touch, even for a vampire."

Integra's voice, as well, was nearly toneless. "Alucard, is there anything you can do to bring her out of it?"

"I can try." Alucard's hands were firmly fixed on Seras' shoulders. His eyes closed as he leaned further over the bedside. "Wake up, police girl."

The command shot any faith Maxwell might have had in the vampire to begin with. "If one could wake a person up just by--"

"Be quiet!" Alucard ordered harshly, and Maxwell shrank into a corner, unwilling to repeat the night before. Integra chuckled lightly, something that Maxwell might have protested if Alucard had not been there.

Alucard's voice was very deep, even for him. "Wake up, Seras Victoria. Throw off whatever pathetic chains the maggot vampire has locked you in. Prove your worth and get up! Prove to me I'm not wasting my time training you! GET UP!"

Seras' eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Alucard. The vampire returned the look with something resembling pride. "So you were able to come out of it."

"It's getting light," Seras murmured. "He can't do anything more until the sun sets."

"Walter, draw the shades and let her get some rest." Alucard nonchalantly exited the room through the wall. "I'm going to bed. Seras and I will deal with this bastard 'vampire' tonight."

"Are you sure that's--" Integra began as Walter pulled the shades down, but Alucard was gone. She groaned in aggravation. "Seras, are you all right now?"

Walter returned to Seras' bedside, his hand covering hers as he sat down. "She'll be fine. I can watch her."

Integra nodded. "Very well. Maxwell, would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Maxwell, grateful for permission to speak once again. As he followed Integra to the kitchen he had a vague sense that there was another reason for them to leave the room, one that had to do with Walter's caress of Seras' hand and the hushed murmurs in which the two were speaking to each other.

He sat down at the kitchen table and folded his hands in front of him. Cautiously, he asked, "Are they..."

"I don't care," Integra answered curtly. "Perhaps they find some comfort in each other. I don't care what goes on between them, disturbing as it may be for a couple like that, as long as it doesn't interfere with their work, and so far it hasn't seemed to."

Maxwell thought, as she turned away from him to make the tea, that he might find some comfort in her, but the suggestion was so absurd he tried to keep it even from himself. He looked uncomfortably down at the table, trying to interest himself in the grain of the polished oak.

"They're cheating themselves, though," she went on. "Walter may be dead soon, certainly within the next thirty years, and Seras is a vampire."

"The hormones fool their minds," Maxwell suggested, willing the conversation to end immediately, or at least before it began to have certain effects on him. "Or the... the closeness makes them feel loved."

"The pleasure, you mean."

He swallowed uneasily. "If that were so Seras would find it in shady areas at night. And I'm sure Walter doesn't--" He stopped himself before the discussion could spark another image.

"Even one-night stands are a coping mechanism. But Seras is just a girl. She needs the comfort more than the sex."

Maxwell made a silent pact with himself never to say or think the word "sex" in Integra's presence again.

"If I may say so, Maxwell," she added as she poured the tea, "you're quite the candidate for such coping mechanisms yourself."

Any thought of him and Integra fled from his mind. "You may not, Sir Hellsing. I did feel a certain affinity for chastity when I entered the priesthood."

She shook her head. "Milk and sugar?"

"No, thank you."

She served him his tea and sat down across the table with her own cup. "I suppose you must still see me as the enemy."

Maxwell looked at her for a moment before turning his face to the window. With a slight pang of sadness and remorse he remembered the chain of events leading up to this moment. When Anderson had died, it was her who had brought him back to reality and dragged him out of the cathedral, which had burst into flames moments after they were out of range. Where would he have gone, after the funeral, had it not been for her offer? He looked down at his arms and chest, scarred from the fatal cathedral battle; she had even dressed his wounds, being deprived of nursing staff, and they had healed nicely.

"I have very little right to claim that now." He sipped his tea; it was strong, the sort he would expect her to drink. "As one of the last surviving Vatican officials, killing all of you is going to get me nowhere except perhaps Hell. It would appear I owe you a great deal." He lowered his head. "Perhaps I owe you my life."

She looked up at him, the glaring accusation gone from her pale blue eyes. "Maxwell, you've..." Her voice failed her, and she took another sip of her tea. "You've grown up."

"I had to. My father is dead." He closed his eyes at Anderson's memory, trying to suppress the images of his bloody end.

She seemed to know what he meant, however vaguely. "But you have the opportunity to avenge him."

"I killed him." He was just barely holding back tears, and he knew the sob came out in his voice. "I just lay there... and look." He held out his arm. "This is what I escaped with. A couple of scars."

"It was his duty to protect you." Her voice was unreadable. "Maxwell, it's... it's not your fault..."

"You had no duty to protect me!" Reflexively, he pulled his hair out of its ponytail, a feeble attempt to hide himself behind the blonde curtain. "You should have left me to die! God knows I deserved it, and it would have been better for you!"

"Does anyone really deserve that?" He was vaguely aware that she was standing beside him now.

"I did!" The flashback was playing itself in his mind now; his chest felt sticky, and he snatched a napkin from the table to wipe away the blood. "I deserved to die, and you know it!" Earlier; himself as a child running to Anderson for protection from a nightmare. "And I deserved so much worse. I deserved to go to Hell."

Her hand rested gently on his shoulder. "No."

"Don't lie to me." He pulled her hand to his cheek, seeking the emotional warmth, someone to care whether he died, someone to keep him sane and alive. "In fact, Integra, just don't talk at all."

She obliged him; one more thing he owed to her. Her hand remained where he had put it even when he folded his arms on the table and lay his head down on them. Tears streaked down his face like the blood down his chest that night, and when one rolled into his mouth he tasted metal. His two realities meshed, his memory and his consciousness, and finally he was a boy of three in the body of a man of thirty, crying himself to sleep without his father to stay by his bedside.


End file.
